


He Was Not The Light

by fragile



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Eventual Smut, Eye Trauma, Horror, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragile/pseuds/fragile
Summary: Determined to seek justice for a case the police far too easily dismissed, Adam begins his own investigation. He never expected for it to lead him towards a charmingly eccentric stranger— who offers his help in solving the mystery.
Relationships: Ji-Woon Hak | The Trickster/Adam Francis
Comments: 27
Kudos: 41





	He Was Not The Light

It’s the sound of clinking glasses and loud laughter that snaps Adam out of his thoughts and he’s back— back to the bar, back to his coworkers telling their horror stories of the day. One was complaining: “And it took me fifteen minutes to settle them down for the lesson!”

Adam stares down at his still-full drink. His second of the night; he’s regretting getting another one. He hated these kinds of outings, but always felt so rude turning down their invitations. Back in Jamaica, he never had very many friends— and though he wouldn’t consider any of his coworkers _friends,_ per say— it was still a new experience to be wanted.

That might make him sound a bit sad— but truthfully, Adam liked to be alone. Preferred it, even. He forces a smile as someone slaps his back a bit more roughly than they intended. The boisterous setting only served to make him yearn for his bed, his cat, and a good book. _“More content,” his uncle had sighed, “To be in a different world than his own.”_

“Don’t worry,” whispers the woman on his left as she leans into his ear, “I’m bored too.”

He smiles at her and she smiles back. Aiko Ozawa— a charming woman with short black curls that shone sleek under the orange light above them. Her eyes always had this softness to them, but the rest of her features were rough and intimidating. Like him, she was a second-year teacher— she’d been the one who showed him around the school and never laughed when he was still learning how to speak Japanese.

“I think I might get out of here, actually,” he admits in the same low voice. She seems to perk up at that and he’s about to ask her if she wants to escape too, when—

“What are you two talking about?” One of their coworkers from across the table asked, his face red from the liquor. He put a hand on his hip. “Ozawa-chan, you aren’t trying to _leave_ are you?”

“Oh no!” Ozawa laughs, waving her hand dismissively. “Trust me, I’m having a great time.”

Adam shoots her a betrayed look and she gives a half-shrug in return, her smile turning into a carefree grin. Oh, the burdens of social interaction. When exactly _was_ it an appropriate time to leave a gathering like this? Was it once everyone was already plastered? Because Adam has certainly been there before and he doesn’t want to relive the embarrassment of being the only sober one as everyone else sang Backstreet Boys off-key.

Their coworker returns to his conversation. “I thought you were bored,” Adam whispers to Ozawa, in an exaggeratedly accusatory manner. This only makes her take a sip of her drink— her third of the evening, but it didn’t even seem like she was buzzed yet. He waits until she places it down on the coaster.

“I am. Terribly so.”

_“Then?!”_

“Well, I was caught trying to sneak away before I even got outta my seat!” She laughs again. He likes the sound— it’s more like thunderstorms than a twinkling bell. Slyly, she goes on: “But, I think you can still make it out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Adam firmly tells her.

“Don’t be stupid. Go— go in my honor. Actually _enjoy_ your night, unlike me.”

“You _sure?_ We can say we’re working on next week’s lesson plan.”

“Almost tempting,” she jokes, “But nah. I’ll make my getaway when they decide to go bar hopping.” She eyes their coworker from across the table critically. “Though I’m more surprised they’re still up and running.”

“Not all of them,” Adam replies, gently elbowing her. The two glance over at the far end of the table, where one of the other second-year teachers had long since let his head fall on his plate, out like a light. She grimaces.

“Is that Tanaka-san? Is he… you know, dead?”

They survey him a little longer. His hand twitches ever-so-slightly and both of them let out the breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Adam believes he has enough evidence to make an assessment. “He’ll survive.”

He takes this as his cue to rise from his seat, causing the eyes of his coworkers to dart towards him. There were far too many of them— each of them searing into his skin. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” He gives a short, awkward bow. “But I must be leaving, I’m meeting up with a friend of mine soon.”

“Then why have we kept you?” Ozawa asks, pretending to be shocked as she slaps her hand to her cheek. He’s grateful she went along with his lie.

“Tch,” his coworker from across the table says as he swipes at his nose, “Francis-san, you didn’t even finish your drink. You have to at _least_ down it. Come on.”

“Yeah!” calls another, raising her own glass.

“Well?” Ozawa says, teasingly as Adam glances at her with dismay. Her eyes shine under the light, and they remind him of the way his cat looks when she spies a bird out the window. “You’ve heard them. You’re not going to disappoint, are you?”

Adam sighs, takes his glass, and gulps it down. He’s met with celebratory cheers as he slams it back on the table, though his head swims from the fast intake of alcohol. Ozawa winks at him and he smiles back, gives his farewells, and departs for the night.

If he had known what was to occur, he would have stayed in that bar the entire night. He would have tried harder to get her to leave with him. He would have done whatever he could have to prevent walking into school the next day, having him and the other teachers pulled into a meeting with a room full of cops, and being asked:

“When was the last time you saw Aiko Ozawa alive?”

It’s near impossible to describe what Adam felt over those ten words. The world stopped spinning on its axis, his heart ate at itself until there was nothing left. He’s staring at the officer, unable to do anything but just _stare—_ his mouth agape and he knows he looks like a damn fool but that didn’t matter right now. 

“I’m sorry?” Tanaka-san spoke first, a smile plastered on his face and Adam knew that it had remained frozen due to the bombshell. “What do you mean _alive?”_

Two of the officers give each other weary looks. Did they think this was all an act? Or had they seen death too many times to no longer be fazed by it like the teachers were? “I know this must come as a shock,” the same one that posed the life-shattering question earlier attempts to soothe, “But we need you to answer honestly. No one here is in trouble.”

“What do you mean alive?” Tanaka-san asks again, but this time his voice is a barely audible whisper.

“Last night we went to a bar,” replies one of the teachers somberly. Adam recognizes her as the one who cheered him on to finish his drink— but now her face had paled, her lips pulled downwards into a deep frown. “We all had a couple of drinks, some of us wanted to go to another bar around one am. But a lot of us, like Aiko-chan, decided to leave.” Her voice trembles as she continues: “I told her goodbye, I gave her a hug— _oh god!”_ She collapses then, her bravado unable to hold up any longer as she begins to cry.

“Maybe she’s just missing?” Another teacher behind Adam tries, hopefully, “Maybe she just had too much to drink and wandered off somewhere?”

The officer shakes her head. “We… we found her body.” Her jaw hardens. “At the moment, murder has not been ruled out.” She waits for the outburst of bewildered murmurs to die down before she goes on: “We can’t go into more details at the moment, so please be patient with us.”

The principal, a short and stout man, steps forward and tells his staff: “I know this is incredibly painful news, but please keep composed around your students. Classes should resume as normal. Her homeroom class will combine with a few of the others...”

Adam tunes him out, his mind drifting back to last night. He thinks of Ozawa-san’s smile, her laugh, the silly conversation he had with her. How could she possibly be dead? She’d been so alive at the bar— cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol, hands warm when she touched him.

The officers were being tight-lipped about the whole thing; there was no way her death had been an easy one. The day passes by, but in truth, Adam does not feel it. He is outside himself looking in— watching as he has to tell the students the unfortunate news, watching a stranger who looks like him continue the lesson as planned, riding the train home.

Gripping onto the railing, staring as a whirl of colorful buildings zoom by the window— Kagoshima is as beautiful and unassuming as ever. As the train pulls into his station, as he steps off it, he thinks he spies a woman with soft eyes and rough features. She boards the train, sits completely with her back against the window, and he never sees her again. 

It is only when he steps into his small apartment does he feel the air return to his lungs. He hears the jingling of a bell and a _meowmeowmeow._ Adam softly laughs, though feels immediately guilty for doing so, as he crouches down. “Evening, Dorothy.”

Dorothy, a sleek tabby cat with pale green eyes, had been one of his first purchases when he arrived in Japan. She served her job well, keeping the man from being too alone. Adam extends his hand and Dorothy butts her head against it, her purr so loud it serves to drown out what plagued her owner’s mind.

Adam scoops the cat up, plants a kiss on her head, before he heads towards his computer. He settles into the chair and she into his lap. Despite having checked his phone throughout the day, the media had been oddly unspecific about Ozawa-san’s death— but that was bizarre. News reporters were like hungry sharks, waiting in the water for a helpless victim to latch onto. 

But the articles he found online?

_“Aiko Ozawa was a thirty-year-old schoolteacher found dead in a warehouse near Kinko Bay. Details about her death are still unknown at this time. Her family and friends mourn the loss of such a kind soul.”_

Adam leans back in his chair, frustrated. It seemed like he was going to have to wait for any proper news about her passing. “Just what did they do to you, Aiko?” He murmurs under his breath.

He’s about to give up his search entirely when he spies a result near the very bottom of the page, from a small blog rather than a big news corporation. He’s blinded by the page immediately: the background a nauseatingly bright shade of pink, the kanji only a slightly darker shade. A sparkling rainbow made the header. Despite the… _colorful_ nature of the blog, its contents were dark:

_“i don’t understand! why is no one reporting on aiko ozawa? ? i saw her body. i will never forget how she looked. strung up on a hook, staring down at us through eyeless sockets. there was a note tied around her neck with string. it said: ‘i saw the light, but i was not worthy.’ i can not close my eyes without seeing those words. they are burned into my mind. tonight if i sleep, i will dream of her.”_

Dorothy’s meow makes Adam pull back, realizing he’s so close to the monitor his nose is nearly pressed against the glass. He readjusts himself before he scrambles to open one of the drawers, pulling out a yellow notepad and pen.

“Warehouse near Kinko Bay..” He mutters as he writes in a messy scrawl, “Note said…” Once he’s finished, he tears off the page, folds it neatly and places it inside his coat pocket.

_‘And what exactly,’_ his mind chides, _‘Are you planning to do with that information?’_

Adam couldn’t answer himself— he was just a schoolteacher, after all, and the police were working on the case. He had to have faith that they knew what they were doing. Still, there was something so oddly desperate in the way the blogger wrote: as if they were screaming into a void, scared that no one had heard them.

But he did.

If what this blogger said was the truth, then… there could be no other explanation: she had been murdered. Brutally so.

**September 21st —**

**Two Weeks After The Death of Aiko Ozawa**

Adam slams his hands on the desk, but the detective doesn’t even flinch. “A suicide?!”

“That’s what I said,” the detective said, voice cold and eyes steely. It was clear he had been done with the conversation the moment Adam had bombarded through the station doors. He meets the schoolteacher’s burning dark brown eyes with ease. “Aiko Ozawa was a troubled soul…”

“What?” Adam can hardly believe what he’s hearing, cutting through the detective’s droning. He struggles to keep his voice at a somewhat polite level. “That’s… that’s utter drivel! Pure nonsense! Ozawa-san always had a smile on her face, she was always happy to come to work! She loved her kids, she had no reason to—”

“Really?” The detective interrupts, “Tell me. How well did you actually know her? Did you know how she was actually feeling?” When Adam doesn’t answer, he continues in the same uncaring manner: “She might have put on a brave face, but she was secretly hurting inside… She thought herself worthless.”

Adam rubs at his forehead tiredly. It was true he didn’t know her all that well, but… That didn’t make _sense._ If she had really been planning to kill herself, then why had she seemed so upbeat at the bar? They had carried a conversation that felt just the same as any other, there’d been no indication that—!

He had to stop that train of thought. It was foolish to think that way, he could never know what she was truly feeling. However, his mind flashes back to the blog post. If she had really been suicidal… did she really drive herself to an abandoned warehouse, put herself on a hook, gorge out her own eyes? Why would she have chosen to go out in such a grotesquely cruel manner? He sizes up the detective, whose face was flat and gave no traces of anything away.

 _“She saw the light, but she wasn’t worthy._ Is that what you’re trying to say?”

For a moment, the detective breaks character— something akin to alarm flashes in his eyes, but instead he replies with a new fire, pure anger, to his words: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was obvious he did know— but Adam highly doubted that he’d be able to press him further. He pulls back and the other man shoots him a smug smirk, like he thinks Adam has given up. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Just the detective’s reaction to the bizarre phrase alone had made Adam very aware of two crucial facts: the blogger had been correct and the police wasn’t planning to do a damned thing about it.

“Thank you for your time,” Adam says sourly, before he walks out of the station. The news called it an open-and-shut case. Ozawa’s family had been devastated— he could still vividly remember each and every one of their faces at the funeral. She had left behind a husband, two little girls.

The casket had been closed. Adam had assumed it to be the family’s wishes at the time, but it could have been that her injuries were as gruesome as the blogger said. Perhaps even more so. His heart aches at the mere thought— Ozawa deserved a better fate than the gods had given her. How could the police just let this injustice slide with such ease?

Again, he finds his mind asking: _‘And what can you do about it, Adam Francis?’_

He wasn’t sure he could do anything about it— he held no authority, never investigated anything before. But he was a curator of knowledge— and he had never been one to limit himself. If he could learn how to speak Japanese in only two and a half years, then he could certainly try his best to help Ozawa rest in peace.

His feet take him to the library, his solace, his home away from home. It was the first place he’d looked up when he arrived in Japan— he spent many long nights perusing their selection of literature. It’d been a struggle to read many of the books and even now, there are times where he has to reread a sentence more than once in order to truly get its meaning. When he had no one in a brand new land, the books were there to provide comfort.

Now they would be there to help him bring forth the truth behind this crime.

Adam is greeted by name by the librarians, which he quickly returns, before he weaves through the aisles of books— making his way towards the newspapers and magazines. He pulls a few papers hoping that they’ll mention her, though he figures they’d most likely share the same information as their online counterparts. He shifts through the magazines, but his interest lines more with the tabloids: the publications would be more than happy to share the truthful way Ozawa died if it meant getting more reads.

But it was as if she had never existed at all.

Adam makes his way towards the second floor of the building— despite the circumstances of his visit, the library usually had a cozy air to it and this time was no different. He weaves through the selection of non-fictional books— all about cases that were solved after a long period of time or by amateur sleuths. He hopes that learning what methods worked for those cases could apply for this one. 

His arm full of books, he moves to the reference section and pulls all he can about crime and police work off the shelves. By the time he makes it to a table at the very far end of the room, there are several stacks of books that make his workspace look like a fortress— keeping all intruders away. He shoves a few of them aside, takes off his messenger bag and places it across the table. From within the bag, he takes out his faithful yellow notepad and gets to work.

Time seems to fly as he searches through book after book, jotting down notes here and there. “Interesting, interesting…” Adam would mutter out loud, though he would deny doing so if asked. He’s so lost in his own world that he does not notice as the sun has begun to set, the light shining through the large windows becoming more and more faint. The other patrons have begun to put back their books, and have begun to leave.

A tapping foot is finally what takes him out of his trance— though he does not look up from _Unsolved Crimes: 1990s-2000s,_ he does grip onto the sides of it just a little tighter. It’s an odd noise, not as if it was impatient, but rhythmic in nature— carefree. He does his best to ignore it, skimming the page, but as the tapping continues he retains none of the information.

Finally, after this odd back-and-forth goes on for a few minutes, Adam jerks his head up. “Do you mind?” He hisses, making sure to keep his voice low enough.

He wasn’t expecting the man sitting across from him— no, scratch that— he hadn’t been expecting anyone to be sitting across from him _period._ But there he was, in between the pillars of books. He had stylish white hair, an undercut that was faded on both sides. He wore an oversized pink jean jacket and underneath that a white shirt. A stark contrast from Adam’s coffee-stained sweater vest and collared shirt. The stranger’s slim fingers, which rested on the desk, bore black rings and matching nail polish.

His mouth, pretty and pink, was twisted up in a smile. As if he was pleased to finally be noticed. His eyes were dark brown, gleaming with something that Adam couldn’t place. In a way, they reminded him of Ozawa’s. 

“Oh,” the man says in broken English, “Not at all. You can keep reading.”

Adam sweeps his gaze over the man’s side of the desk, but there was nothing. No books, nothing to indicate that he had been doing any type of reading or research of his own. That revelation unnerves him slightly, so he straightens up and eyes the man carefully. “... I prefer to speak in Japanese.”

The man seems to perk up at that. “Ah! I used to take Japanese. Yours is very good.”

“I’ve practiced a while.”

The conversation fell into silence then. Though Adam usually preferred the silence, he was off-put by the air that the stranger carried— confident, collected. He thinks about gathering his belongings, bidding a quick farewell, but it was like he was glued to his seat. Was it from the intensity of the stranger’s stare or just his own nerves? He refuses to let the stranger have any type of power over him, so he returns to his book and hopes that will be the end of it.

He’s only a few lines into the paragraph he’s read five times now when the stranger speaks up again: “Quite the selection of books here.”

Adam pretends he didn’t hear him.

The stranger doesn’t seem deterred by this, humming a little tune that isn’t loud enough for Adam to shush. He watches from the corner of his eye as the stranger plucks one of the books on top of the stacks lazily, pretends to flip through it. “Don’t touch my things,” Adam mutters out.

“These aren’t yours, though,” the stranger points out, using the book to gesture towards him, “Unless you checked it out already.”

Adam doesn’t reply to that, returning to his book.

“You’re taking a lot of notes too,” the stranger observes, setting the book half-hazardly back onto the pile. His next words are laced with pure mischief: “Don’t tell me. You’re looking to commit a murder.”

It feels as if Adam had been struck and he looks up in shock. “I’m… sorry?”

“Ooh. So you did hear me.” The man leans forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. He speaks casually, like he didn’t just make a wild accusation. “By the way, I’m Ji-Woon Hak, since you asked.”

“I’m…” He almost introduces himself out of habit, but instead says: “I’m _not_ planning a murder.”

“I’d hope not!” Ji-Woon replies, cheery now, “I’d hate to have to report such a cute guy to the cops.”

Adam thinks he misheard him. _“Excuse me?”_

Ji-Woon’s smile widens— the sleazy charm of it gone, replaced by a soft warmth. “Oh, sorry. Was that too forward? I hope it wasn’t.”

“Uh, I’m flattered,” he begins and stops right there, downright flustered, unsure of what else to say. He stares at the man and he _knows_ he should probably finish his statement. The man sitting across from him was polished, pristine, and Adam was a rusted car abandoned in a junkyard. His quiet nature and his tendency to keep his head down had never drawn any eyes to him— so why would things be different now? He glances around, wondering if the man’s friends were waiting around the corner, ready to jump out with their cameras and laugh at him. He waits for the “just kidding!”, but nothing happens.

He shakes himself out of those thoughts. What on earth? What did it matter if it was a prank or not? There was no time for any of that— and it wasn’t what he had come here for. Guilt kicks him square in the chest, because how could he even be debating this topic with himself when Ozawa-san was still suffering in the afterlife? Adam lamely finishes with: “I’m sort of busy right now.”

“Oh, right, right.” Ji-Woon nods firmly, growing serious. “Too busy reading about…” He cocks an eyebrow. _“Unsolved crimes.”_

He glares at the man, offended by his insinuation. Whatever attraction he had felt fled upon Ji-Woon’s statement. “This is for research, which I see you’re not at all interested in.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, starting to grow tired of being polite. “Since you don’t seem to have any books with you.”

“No need! You seem to have plenty to go around.”

Adam heaves a sigh, visible enough that part of him hopes it makes the other man so offended he’ll leave. The man doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem _fazed._ He narrows his eyes. Sure, he may have gotten caught off-guard by the man’s tasteless flirtation, but now this was just ridiculous. He didn’t have much time before the library would begin ushering people to the check-out counter, and he couldn’t afford to waste it on some jokester.

“Are you really going to check all of these out?” Ji-Woon tilts his head, ever-so-slightly, just as Adam attempts to return to his readings. “What are you even researching?”

“It doesn’t concern you, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t tell you regardless. You’ve been rather rude.”

“I have?”

“Yes,” Adam snaps, slamming his book closed. “I don’t know how it works where you’re from—”

“South Korea,” Ji-Woon supplies, helpfully, “Seoul.”

“—But in Japan, you let strangers read their books in peace. This is a library, not some…” Adam pauses, mind racing to come up with an accurate comparison. _“Club.”_

Ji-Woon watches with a grin as Adam reaches over, drags his bag back towards his side of the table, beginning to put everything away. The notepad slips in with some struggle as Adam quickly packs up. “And you know,” he continues with his lecture, “I’m sure a pretty boy like you is used to getting all the attention, but some people just like being left alone.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Ji-Woon perks up and Adam shoots him a glare.

“No. I think you think _you’re_ pretty.”

The man’s face falls and for a moment, Adam worries he went too far, but decides that it was simply payback for the other man interfering with his work. He shrugs the bag over his shoulder, takes a few random books from his pile, and gives a quick: “Now, have a pleasant evening.”

“Wait!” Ji-Woon scrambles to his feet. Adam refuses to look back, even as he hears footsteps behind him.

_‘Walk faster, walk faster.’_

A hand is on his wrist then and he’s spun around, but as quickly as it was on him— it was gone. Like it had been nothing more than a phantom touch. Adam scowls, yanking back his arm to avoid it being snagged again. “Do you not know when to drop things?”

“Ah.” At least for his part, Ji-Woon looks genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry.” His eyes fall to his white sneakers, a stark contrast to Adam’s dark oxfords. “I didn’t mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable.” Adam clutches the books tight against his chest, not at all attempting to lessen his withering glare.

“It’s fine,” Adam replies, tersely.

“That’s the thing,” Ji-Woon meets his eyes, brows furrowed. Despite the apologetic look, his brown eyes were alight with determination. “It’s _not_ fine.” He begins to ramble, catching Adam off-guard. It seemed like such an impossible action for someone so slick. “I really overstepped, I know. I just got so excited, you see, I’m an artist. Trouble is, it’s hard for me to get inspired by things— but you!” He gestures at Adam. “You were so focused on your readings, I felt this passion _oozing_ from you and I just knew I had to say something.”

“I… I see,” Adam stammers, though he doesn’t really. He’s still processing what the other man told him. That was just the type of person he was— overanalyzing each and every word to discover the true meaning of it. But the other man seemed to be just his opposite: leaping to action rather than debating all his options.

Ji-Woon gives a polite bow and as he rises, sticks out his hand, causing Adam’s thoughts to break. He had regained his composure— though even as he rambled, he had never truly lost his confident nature. “Please, if you’d let me, I’d like to start over. My name is Ji-Woon Hak and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Adam. Adam Francis.” Despite his better judgment, he shakes the man’s hand. Ji-Woon’s hand is soft, but his handshake is surprisingly firm. Adam is the first to let go.

“Adam…” Ji-Woon tests the name out on his lips and nods approvingly. “That’s a nice name. Biblical, right?”

“Mhm. The first man.”

“There isn’t an Eve in the picture, is there?” Ji-Woon asks, voice dripping with anticipation.

“Smooth.” Adam snorts, but shakes his head. “But no. There isn’t. And though I really appreciate your erm, _compliments,_ I’m busy with my work— so I truly hope your next question doesn’t involve asking me out.”

Ji-Woon laughs, bats his eyelashes innocuously. “No, I’d never do that.”

“Right.” Adam shifts the books in his arms. “Well, I’d best be on my w—”

“Wait! Before you do, I really _am_ curious. What exactly _are_ you researching?”

Adam was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that he’d just be worn down until he spoke. It was better to just get it over with, skip the runaround. “I’m looking into the case of Aiko Ozawa.”

Ji-Woon blinks. “The lady who committed suicide?”

Adam scowls, displeased by the confusion in the other man’s voice. So it seemed whoever wanted this covered up had done a good job— of course everyone was going to believe that this wasn’t even worth looking into, considering how quickly the media and police had wrapped up the entire story. “It’s not a suicide.”

The man’s expression changes once more, becoming serious. His voice drops to a whisper, one so low that even Adam has to strain to hear it: “Wait, seriously? How do you know?”

“I…” Adam’s eyes shift to the side. “I can’t say, yet.”

Ji-Woon grips onto the schoolteacher’s shoulders. “I knew it. I _knew_ there was something fishy about the whole thing.”

Now it was Adam’s turn to be puzzled— that was definitely not what he had expected. Yet, hope swells in his chest. If even one person had doubts about the whole endeavor besides him, then it meant that he was _justified,_ didn’t it? “Do you really mean that?” He can’t help but ask and Ji-Woon holds his gaze steadily.

That somber look on his face seemed like it didn’t even match him— _‘it was much more natural,’_ Adam thinks, _‘for him to be smiling.’_

“Yeah.” The fingers on his shoulders dig themselves into his skin, but Adam doesn’t feel any pain. Perhaps it’s due to the burst of elation over having met a like-minded individual. “You might not have seen it, it’s been taken down, but there was this blog post—”

Adam’s eyes widen. “I saw the light,” he whispers, like he’s sharing some secret code, “But I wasn’t worthy.”

“Exactly.” Ji-Woon returns, letting go of the man and taking a step back. “That’s the one. It just seemed too… extravagant to be a suicide. I don’t know, it felt like…” He bites his lower lip. “Like someone _wanted_ people to see that message.”

The schoolteacher ponders his words, again shifting the books. They were beginning to weigh heavily in his arms. “They wanted to be seen, huh…?” He mutters, more to himself than to the other party. Something about that didn’t seem to sit quite well with the evidence he’s gathered so far.

“Listen,” Ji-Woon tells him, “And you’re more than welcome to say no, but the apparent suicide of Aiko Ozawa has been bothering me ever since I saw it on the news.” His eyelids droop. “I’d… I’d like to figure out what really happened to her, as well. Is there a chance I can help you?”

“Really?” Adam frowns. “You’d want to?”

“Yeah,” Ji-Woon says firmly and Adam _knows_ he means it.

He considers this. It’d be nice to have an extra pair of eyes on this case, maybe someone who could overlook what he missed— especially since Ji-Woon seemed to have a different perspective of the murder than Adam did. On the other hand, however, the man had basically come into Adam’s life like a hurricane— wild and untamed.

Adam thinks of Ozawa-san. She’d been a storm, herself. He’d been so afraid of her when they first met, but she had become an amicable coworker— no. She had become his friend. There’s a pang in his chest. He wishes he could have told her that when she was alive. But she wasn’t anymore. When his eyes meet Ji-Woon’s, he sees the same fire in them that he saw in Ozawa-san’s.

“Alright,” Adam relents slowly, “Just as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

“I won’t!” Ji-Woon promises. That grin from earlier was back on his face and Adam thinks he’s nearly as bright as the sun. “I swear, you can count on me.”

“Good. Don’t let me down.”

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: time to go on writing hiatus!   
>  ji-woon: allow me to introduce myself
> 
> i have... plans. i hope you decide to stick around and find what they are, hehe!! thank you to megidola and blue for beta-reading this for me !!
> 
> **edit 03.06.21:** check out this [wonderful fanart](https://murderenthusiasts.tumblr.com/post/644926874584268801/i-decided-to-draw-a-scene-from-the-newest-fic-of) by murderenthusiasts !! thank you so much, i'm still crying ! 💕💕


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